Hey You
by NecroBrits
Summary: Arthur never thought the day would happen, and now that it did, its left him feeling hollow and selfish. But no, he isn't going to make the same mistake. Not with Alfred. And a sticky note just might be the way to solve everything.


Hey you, out there on the road

always doing as you're told

can you help me?

Hey you, out there beyond the wall,

breaking bottles in the hall,

can you help me?

Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all

together we stand, divided we fall.

_-"Hey You" _Pink Floyd

The wall. By god, the wall was too high. Fence? Too dirty, too high, and he kept scrabbling his way up - or, attempting to - but his movements were drunkenly sluggish and he only succeeding in falling again.

Surrounded by a barbed wire fence, he couldn't think. He could hardly breathe, what with every breath he took, the curling fumes of sharp alcohol tickled his nose. And to what extent? He didn't know. He couldn't tell whether he had drank something poisonous or what, for this was no stupor he could remember induced by-by-by what?

It was so bloody dark.

It wasn't his fault his attention kept darting all over the place, almost as fast as his eyes were. Oh, no. Nor was it his fault that he could see but not feel scratches on his face and arms ooze with blood from the god damn fence. What, did the fence have knives glued onto it? Why was he bleeding?

Oh, right. Barbed wire.

Why was he surrounded by barbed wire, again?

And it all came crashing back.

Francis. Oh no, nothing to do with Francis, Francis wasn't there, Francis was - where? Wait, Francis was in France.

Under a train? No, under a bus. Or a train. Bus or train. Train or bus. Francis was under a vehicle, in France! And_ he_ was surrounded by barbed wire in England. England! He was in England, why wasn't he on his way through the Channel? He could go drag Francis and his unfortunate arse back to his home and tend to him better than any blasted hospital. All hospitals were good for were announcing frogs to be dead. Then again, it was France. The good doctors were probably on strike. But that was beside the point-

He took one step, and fell. Muddied water rushed to comfort him, seeping through his clothes, though that was a given considering it had only just stopped raining. It was so dark that he could hardly even spot his own glimmering reflection in the sad excuse for a puddle, but there was one street lamp behind him that glared and silhouetted his image as if it were something biblical. Suddenly, as if the rush of cold water was what he had needed to be jerked into sensory alert, the overwhelming smell of garbage waved their greeting. Groaning, he crawled, his body suddenly feeling like lead that was magnetic to the ground. Stupid ground. God, how he hated the stupid, magnetic ground.

He rose his head up and blinked unintelligently, squinting and attempting to make sense of the flashing lights in front of him across the eerily dark street, bordering windows and shops and - was that a city? That was a large city. That was a large building. Stupid stars and stripes, that was a large American flag, as well.

Wait.

America. He was in...America? America. Right. He was attending university (college? Whatever the hell, same thing) in the colourful bleeding states of America.

Funny, he didn't think he was currently in his dorm room.

It didn't matter, he'd just drag Francis back to his dorm. It was only across the pond! Just a small flight. Perhaps, six hours? Five? He could get there, that was clearly no problem. The real situation was getting across the street.

Oh, and if he were just that lucky, maybe he'd end up under a bus, too.

He was at the edge of the pavement (sidewalk? Pavement, not sidewalk. Stupid Americans), attempting to wobble onto his feet. Hah, he was like a penguin! Replace English rain with snow and he'd be in his perfect habitat. Too bad he was in America. America was so large and so warm and it was so cold right then. It was just his luck, really. But taking a step onto the rain muddled street, loose gravel rolling beneath his foot that somehow only had his sock intact - which explained why he was so cold, his feet were being seeped of all warmth with the wet cotton covering them - he could feel that one knee begin to buckle, as if there were merely a thread holding it intact. The ground fast rushed to meet him, colliding with his body but shielded from his face by his wrist.

There was a terrible screech of tires.

He lay there, unmoving, uncomprehending, staring down the road and facing away from where the screech had originated from, blinking as he could only see a dark road highlighted by the shop lights and then fading away into the dark, for the city had not bothered, it seemed, to put up any more lights at regular intervals. Or was it unincorporated territory? His drunken stupor felt like it was slowly clearing, and with that realisation only came the clenching of the glass bottle gripped tightly in his other hand, the one he had not fallen on, holding it close to him and still closer as if it would melt into his very skin. He twisted his body, only to hug it firmly, to ensure that it would not be yanked away.

There was a shout, and the shout repeated, and little bits of words and phrases filtered into his mind and got lost and distant, for he could care less about whoever it was that was shouting, his only focus was that he needed to get to France.

His shoulder. From behind him, his shoulder was touched, and shaken, and he groaned and curled further into himself. He wanted not a thing to do with no person unless they were his ticket back to the man he had abandoned out of false hatred, the only man willing to have stuck beside him and who he had just left with the stupid assumption that it would hurt less when Francis went. No romance, none involved, only the simple companionship he had longed for as a child and which, when slapped in the face with it, got up and walked away from.

He hated himself.

It hurt less when he had known, no, assumed, that whenever he wanted, whenever that would be, he could simply go back and Francis would be there to accept him back as the friend he never had.

But that was selfish.

The gravel hurt, digging into his ribs, but that was not the pain that he really felt.

The hand on his shoulder turned him onto his back, the gravel jabbing into his spine, and he blinked and squinted and tried to back away from the harsh light of the streetlamp behind the person who had turned him around. It was a man, with feather tipped choppy hair of a colour he could not distinguish in the contrast of lights, with wireframe glasses and a thick jacket. There was a brash honk somewhere in the outside world cutting through the noise he felt in his mind, but he could hardly even recognise what it could possibly be. The man gripped his shoulders and sat him up, but he did not want to be sat up. He wanted to lay on that gravel and stay there until the end of time, drowning in his own mind, and if a car passed by and churned that mind to mush then so be it. He groaned and thrashed weakly as the man hoisted him up, kicking him firmly in the abdomen - or as firmly as he could in his unmotivated state - and causing the man to drop him. When the man bent down to lift him again, he kicked out his legs and slammed the empty glass bottle down near the other's feet in panic, and it shattered, all glittery coloured lights reflecting off the shards and just dancing there, suspended in time.

There was a pause of slow-motion, and before he knew it, he was on the shoulder of some stranger and being shoved in the back seat of a car and holy god he was getting kidnapped no, no, no, that was not what he was planning, who on Earth would want to kidnap the regretful son of bitch that he was-

"It'd be awesome if you _didn't _break my car," went a voice from the front seat, and all he did was yell profanities. "Oh. Great. Thanks," laughed the voice again, and he was stunned into silence at the unexpected response.

His head hurt. Very badly.

"I've wanted to talk to you for a while, just didn't think it'd be after I nearly ran over your face. Literally. Jeez, dude, what were you up to, anyway?" the voice spoke up again, but he was hardly listening or paying any attention. Was he driving him back into the area surrounded by the barbed wire, which reeked of trash? Of course he was. Bloody, uncreative kidnappers-

Or not.

The car swerved away from that spot, moving around the building that it was at the back of and his sluggish mind took a minute or two to realise he recognised the building. Where did he recognise the building from? It was right on the tip of his tongue-

"Cool. Don't answer. Could you at least tell me which one's your dorm? I'd rather not have a guy with a hangover rooming with me right before afternoon classes."

Dorm! It was the dorm building. Of course.

When did he get to the back of the dorm building? And what was it that the man had said? Ah, it didn't matter, anyway.

The car stopped and he was too lost in thought to remember that he was supposed to struggle when the man threw him over his shoulder and walked towards the building. It wasn't a necessarily impressive thing, but it was there all the same. Slowly, the man pushed open the front doors and entered the eerily dark hallway of the lobby, practically tiptoeing into the room, and suddenly, the one on his shoulder felt that he probably shouldn't speak.

But, then again, that was also when he passed out.

* * *

The first thing that registered to Arthur when he opened his eyes was both the god awful bleach coloured lighting, and the way the evil lighting kick started a sudden massive headache. He must have made a sound of disapproval about it, because something shifted to his left.

Oh, and he was in a bed.

His surroundings were a little slower to register. Of course, they looked like his dorm room, or they would, if it weren't for the laptop in the corner or the peculiar absence of book shelves or-

Or the shifting body next to him. That was certainly an important note.

Making a sound he'd rather not ever make again, Arthur was jolted into being fully awake as he scooted away from the other body and crash landed on the floor. The desk next to him and its personal lamp shook in protest. There was a groan from the bed as a head which was vaguely familiar, complete with wheat coloured hair and confused blue eyes, peered down at him. The head was slightly tilted, and the eyes squinted, trying to make out the shape, before they widened in realisation and the man flew off the bed.

"Christ, are you okay?" the man shouted, far too loudly for Arthur's intensely sensitive mind to be pleased with as he crouched next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder that had slammed against the table.

"Who _are_ you?" Arthur yelled in response, shuffling away from the individual and bumping against the dorm wall, his head throbbing and pounding and becoming randomly dizzy. Oh, god, he was going to be sick.

The man frowned. "Alfred," he said, attempting to spark a response. "Your partner in biology...? Sit next to you in anatomy?" he tried, "I usually sit with you and Kiku for breakfast."

Oh, yeah. Slightly calmer, Arthur lowered his hand into one hand and moaned, wincing at the look of all the small cuts and scrapes absolutely covering his arm and hand. He distantly heard Alfred say something, but didn't dare glance up as he left into an adjoining room and came back a minute later with a few pills nestled in the palm of his hand and a glass of water. Arthur eagerly excepted the offering and was about to gulp them down when his eyes widened. Alfred stared at him with a concerned expression as Arthur clumsily set everything down and bolted for where he knew the bathroom was in his own dorm, thankful that the design of the rooms was the same, and vomited.

"Aw, gross," Alfred whined from behind him, having picked up the medicine and brought it with him into the bathroom. Arthur moaned again from the feeling of jerking his head so fast from his sitting position to the toilet, causing another wave of nausea to flood through him as he lowered his head into the porcelain. "How much did you drink, anyway?"

Arthur answered with a groan. Alfred just shrugged and waited in the doorway as Arthur puked a last time and scooted back cautiously, dragging toilet paper with him in order to wipe his mouth. When he was done, Alfred set down the water and the pills next to him on the floor. "I'll...get you some coffee or something to...yeah," Alfred said awkwardly, walking away before Arthur could protest. The Brit heard the door to the dorm shut softly as Alfred headed down to the cafeteria.

He dropped his face into his hands, ignoring the way it triggered another dull throb. The pain had momentarily caused Arthur to forget why he had gotten drunk in the first place, but, like all good things (or bad, whatever a hangover at that second was supposed to fall under), it had to end.

Arthur had classes. He couldn't even go to Francis' funeral. Was that really how selfish he had become? He'd told it Francis' sister, Michelle, himself when she called in a strangely monotone voice, telling him what had become of her older brother. But of course, like all things he did, he was detached, offering his regrets without truly getting what he was regretting until the beep of a call ending rang through his ear, and the image of who exactly Francis was filled his mind, wavy blonde hair and obnoxious demeanour-

A dry choke heaved its way from his throat and, once more, he felt his thoughts curl in on themselves until it filled all that he knew and all that he was aware of; taking no mind of where he was or who he was but, instead, leaving himself alone in a pristine white bathroom with only himself as his enemy and only himself as his friend.

Suddenly, though, there was the sound of a door clicking shut and then there was a hand on his shoulder, turning him, and suddenly, there were two arms linked around his back and his formerly covered eyes were buried into cotton that smelt only of coffee and fabric softener.

And stayed there.

"Bad, huh?" Alfred said, but it wasn't loud or obnoxious as his voice normally was. It was softer, quieter, and Arthur found he rather liked that change. He didn't answer, and Alfred slowly stood up, but he kept his arms around Arthur so that the Englishman was forced to stand up with him. Alfred twisted around so that one arm was wrapped around the other's shoulders - as much as was possible, anyway, considering Arthur had fairly broad shoulders as well - and pressed the other blonde into his side. He guided him out of the bathroom and back into the room the two had awoke in.

That was when Arthur snapped out of it.

Scowling, he spun away from Alfred's grip, glaring at him without restraint as he jumped from the sitting position he had nearly been guided into on the bed's edge. Alfred blinked, puzzled, as Arthur just stood there, fists by his side. "I'm not in need of babying, you know," he finally spat, gritting his teeth.

"I wasn't-?"Alfred started, before stopping himself. "Why were you c-sad?"

Arthur stared at him with unguarded suspicion, looking for ill intent, before slowly relaxing. "That isn't any of your business." When all Alfred did was just look at him blankly, Arthur lightly shaking, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Something happened to an aqui-," _no, _his mind screamed as he was about to say the word he had used his entire life. No, he owed Francis - he owed Francis what he had never said out loud, but what Francis had always wanted to hear. Arthur cleared his throat before restarting, "something happened to a... good friend of mine," he stated as matter-of-factly as he could manage, disliking the way Alfred's eyes seemed to enlarge, if only a fraction.

"Are they okay?" he asked, and when Arthur didn't answer, only stared at the ground, Alfred stepped forward to engulf him in another hug. Arthur dodged his arms.

"I don't need your pity," Arthur spat, scowl back on his face. He spun around and ignored the surprised and faintly hurt look on the other's face, a man he could hardly even begin to say he knew but had none-the-less awoken in bed with, and slammed the door behind him - signifying the end of their conversation.

The fact that Arthur never thanked him was the only thing Alfred could think of as he stared at the closed door in front of him.

* * *

"Did you get a good night's sleep?" Kiku asked cautiously as Arthur plopped down in the seat across from him, university breakfast on a tray in his hands. He could only look on in surprise as Kiku uncharacteristically fidgeted, his eyes darting over Arthur's face for any signs of other emotion. "I heard you in the dorm halls," he explained, "the mods kicked you out when you wouldn't get back inside the room. You sounded drunk."

Well, that explained how Arthur got to the back of the dorm building. Kiku looked as if he wanted to comment more as his attention kept shifting to the marks over Arthur's hands, but Arthur blatantly ignored him, opting to instead focus on his breakfast. Just then, though, a hand was clasped on his shoulder once more, and he was ready to tell Alfred off until a heavily accented German voice spoke up from behind him. "Wow, Artie, didn't know you were going to sleep with my roomie," he said, laughing at something apparently hilarious as he didn't wait for Arthur's response and dashed off. Arthur then decided that Kiku had never shown more emotion on his face in his life then right then.

"You and Alfred-san...?" he started, but a glare from Arthur made him stop, and Arthur could only hope that the message he received was the right one.

* * *

Arthur suddenly hated Biology. It was his only Wednesday evening class and he very much hated it at that moment, especially when a certain wheat haired wonder slid into the seat next to him. Thankfully, the dolt did not try at a conversation, considering trying at a conversation as a class such as Biology was starting was not a wise decision at all.

Before the blasted thing ended, though, and the lab station was being wrapped up, notes scattered in so many places Arthur was having a difficult time telling apart their order, Alfred leaned against the bleach white counter. He frowned. "Did I know this friend?" he asked, and Arthur was wondering why in the name of all that was good and evil Alfred's mind was still on that subject. Nevertheless, Arthur's had been, too, but that was neither here nor there.

"No," Arthur snapped. Alfred should know better. The only people Arthur was ever seen with was Kiku during breakfast, because Kiku favoured morning classes, and occasionally Alfred when he decided to wake up before the two had left. Otherwise, he technically had no friends. Was a no body. When Alfred did not budge as Arthur moved to pick up his papers stuck underneath the man's elbow, Arthur grit his teeth. "He lives in France, you've never even heard of him," the Brit elaborated, and at that, Alfred moved, allowing Arthur to gather his things and head to the library to study.

* * *

On Friday, Arthur had Anatomy, and he had gotten there early. Unfortunately, though, Alfred followed not a moment after, before Arthur had even time to set his belongings against the side of his desk's metal legs. No one else had arrived, and Arthur braced himself for another questioning.

"So, Arthur," Alfred started casually, peeking Arthur's interest so very slightly. "What do you like to do in your free time?"

"What?" Arthur asked incredulously, wondering what had gone wrong with the dirty blonde standing in front of his seat.

"I mean, outside of classes and studying. You have to be doing _something,_" Alfred insisted, attempting to provoke an answer out of the puzzled Englishman.

After a moment, Arthur replied. "What I do is none of your concern."

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm asking you about your sexual fetishes," Alfred pouted, "it's just a question."

"It's a question I do not wish to answer," Arthur repeated, his voice becoming fractionally harsher. Alfred stayed there for a moment, before backing off, lifting his hands from the desk.

"Well," Alfred started, fingers dramatically stroking his chin for show. "I like playing videogames and updating my YouTube channel," he said. "And hiking. This place has a lot of mountains and cool trails."

Arthur gave him a suspicious, guarded expression. "That's lovely; good for you," he answered dismissively, glancing down as he retrieved his journal from the bag to his side and placed it in his lap, silently waiting for his random companion to leave.

Suddenly, unbidden, Alfred's friendly smile dropped and instead only left one corner of his mouth up and his eyebrows scrunched together in an odd expression of both thought and disapproval. "Jeez, dude, I'm just trying to talk to you. You keep chasing everyone who wants to be your friend off," he commented, annoyance leaking ever so slightly into his words as he rolled his eyes and walked off with a glance to the opening class door, smile back and hand waving at whatever figure had entered.

* * *

He was standing at the crosswalk of the street, directly in the area of where he had fallen into an odd, suicidal state of mind induced by grief and alcohol the night before. Arthur had gone to the traditional tea shop on the outskirts of the city to study, finding the atmosphere in the heavenly place to be comforting as opposed to just about everywhere else. Especially considering when he returned to his own dorm on Wednesday, the looks shot at him were not in any way stealthy, and that included the library the day after as well. Really, had been that loud? He could hardly recall it. Maybe he had spout something about Francis and now everyone thought he was gay.

Arthur could hardly keep his thoughts off of the Frenchman. His friend, his only friend - dead. But while he could only think of him, his thoughts of him feigned indifference, like an internal battle in his head, refusing the emotion and refusing to break down. He wasn't that weak, and he had done enough of that Tuesday night.

However, right then, a new thought occurred in his head, and it spurred on his regret, spinning faster and faster and knocking down everything in its path - the worst sort of hurricane.

He just kept pushing everyone away.

That's why he ran from Francis, of course. A friend, and he didn't know how to handle it, didn't want to know how to handle it, always thought he was better off on his own. That it was a weakness to confide in someone. So what did he do? He ran. Just ran off, without so much as a word, and right then, Francis was very likely six feet underground.

What if it happened again?

Then again, it already was, wasn't it?

* * *

Alfred was leaning back in his computer chair when Gilbert dramatically slammed open the dorm door, saying whatever entrance introduction he had rehearsed and plopping down unceremoniously onto the bed. He switched on the telly, crossing his arms behind his head as Alfred immersed himself in the game full screened on his laptop. "Oh," the albino stated, garnering Alfred's attention only shown by a brief hum of acknowledgement. "I told Arthur where our dorm is. Seems like he forgot or something. So expect him to drop by."

There was a loud curse as Alfred died and GAME OVER flashed across his screen. Gilbert laughed. "I'll need to remember how much of a distraction that kid is for the future."

The only response he got was getting flipped off.

* * *

Blinking back sleep blurred eyes and squinting hopelessly at the door, Alfred could only wonder who the hell would dare try and disrupt his sleep. Sure, it was 1PM or something, but he had been sleeping and that was all that truly mattered. It was the only day he didn't study on, too.

Groaning, he called out for the person at the door to stay right there and toppled clumsily off the bed. Taking a moment to recuperate after his graceful fall on what was pretty much his face, he half crawled and stumbled across the floor and into the door, opening it, and standing there was-

absolutely no one.

Needing to register that for a second, Alfred was about to curse, slam the door, and attempt to go back to sleep when the flash of yellow drew his attention towards the front of the door. Flapping there, just barely hanging on, was a sticky note. Alfred probably wouldn't have known who it was from, what it was talking about, or why it was there, but the elegant handwriting could not be mistaken - especially not when Alfred himself sat next to the owner of that pen.

**_I like to write._**

Grinning, he slowly unstuck the paper from the faux wood, and stood there for a while, before hurriedly closing the door and running for the life of him into the closet to find something other than pajamas to wear. After all, he might just have befriended the least friendly person in the entire campus. Tripping while trying to get on his pants, Alfred abandoned his unneeded belt and dashed down the hall, skidding to a stop as he saw a certain Japanese college student sitting on a small rise underneath the campus courtyard's cherry blossom tree.

"Kiks!" Alfred called, watching as Kiku's head snapped up in Alfred's direction. As he got closer, Alfred asked, "do you know what number Artie's dorm is?"

Hopefully he wasn't drunk this time around.

* * *

A/N: Oi, hello!

This really came out of no where. I'm going to give thanks to Daifuku Bun who gave me the idea to go to Pink Floyd for a one-shot idea. When in doubt? Pandora.

This was supposed to be romance. I wonder when my one-shots are going to actually turn out to be romantic? Probably never.

Read and review!


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